


Fallen

by TheSwordAndTheQuill



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Advisers, Blood and Injury, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwordAndTheQuill/pseuds/TheSwordAndTheQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had forgotten what it smelled like, fresh blood. </p>
<p>She’d forgotten the way the thick metallic scent could craw into your mouth, the way it could fill your lungs with copper tinged sludge and set your stomach writhing. Josephine longs to run, to flee into the darkness the way she had that night in Orlais as a young bard’s future dripped down the marble staircase in thick crimson smears.  She wants to get as far away from here as possible, and yet she is rooted to the spot.  </p>
<p>Her knees press into the muddy grass, a wet chill sliding through her chest and down into her shaking hands.  His body, under her touch is cold despite the mild air around them and she is afraid.  Her fingers twist into the fabric of his pant leg and she tries to force a prayer past her heavy lips.</p>
<p>
  <i>Oh Maker, if you ever loved us, help us now…</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a companion to an extraordinary piece of art by Everkings ([Check it out here](http://everkings.tumblr.com/post/109622742181/anonymous-said-can-you-draw-injured-cullen-after/)).

She had forgotten what it smelled like, fresh blood. 

She’d forgotten the way the thick metallic scent could craw into your mouth, the way it could fill your lungs with copper tinged sludge and set your stomach writhing. Josephine longs to run, to flee into the darkness the way she had that night in Orlais as a young bard’s future dripped down the marble staircase in thick crimson smears. She wants to get as far away from here as possible, and yet she is rooted to the spot. 

Her knees press into the muddy grass, a wet chill sliding through her chest and down into her shaking hands. His body, under her touch is cold despite the mild air around them and she is afraid. Her fingers twist into the fabric of his pant leg and she tries to force a prayer past her heavy lips.

_Oh Maker, if you ever loved us, help us now…_

She watches Leliana’s face, but its hard not to keep dropping her gaze to his body between them, to the ragged rise and fall of his chest and the dark wet stain that is ever spreading, soaking into cloak hastily spread beneath him. 

_Its going to be hard to get that stain out…she’ll have to see if one of the herbalists can mix up something to help. Cullen loves that cloak, it wont do to have it soiled…_

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in her throat and comes out part sob. Leliana looks over sharply, her expression half concern, half warning. Now is not the time to fall apart. Shame flashes through her, hot and bracing. She pulls herself up straighter, but her gaze wanders back down to where Leliana’s hand is tangled with the Commander’s. They press together against the gaping wound in his side, their fingers slick with the blood that refuses to be quelled.

Leliana is saying something, her voice is low and steady, Cullen’s eyes are locked on hers but Josehpine can see him struggling to keep them open.

_Maker please…_

From behind her there is a sudden commotion. 

"Damnit, let me through!" She looks over and something like hope washes over her, a figure is pushing through the wall of onlookers she hadn’t realized was gathering. 

"Dorian!" She exclaims. "We thought you with the Inquisitor."

"She took Solas," He says brusquely, dropping to one knee at Cullen’s head. "Elven temple and all that." He reaches out, cool green energy pooling in his palm, and brushes the sweat slicked hair back from the other man’s forehead.

"Good thing too," He says "what would you do without me here to patch up your boo boo’s and kiss them better?” His words are light, but there’s a weight to them Josie’s never heard before. Cullen makes a little huffing sound that might be a laugh and Dorian smiles tenderly down at him. She wonders if the commander has any idea how many people care for him. She glances over at the little gathered crowd, scouts and soldiers and squires, they stand quietly respectful, worry tight on their faces. She suspects the answer is no. 

Dorian claims her attention again by moving over beside Leliana so he can get a better look at the damage. He attempts to move her hand out of his way but her fingers tighten their grip on Cullen’s, unwilling to let him go. She starts, looking to Dorian, only just registering that he is there.

"Its OK." He says gently and she lets him pull their hands away from the Commander’s side. The release in pressure sends a shudder through Cullen, a low broken sound escaping through his clenched teeth. Josephine feels her own jaw lock tight, her heart thudding her her chest. Cullen's free hand reaches out blindly and she catches it both of hers, holding as tightly as she can, willing warmth back into his icy fingers.

_Just a little longer. Just hold on a little longer…_

Dorian peels back the sodden remains of tunic and says,

"Is that all? Why this is hardly worth my time." But his face is pinched and Josephine’s gut lurches. Leliana begins to hum softly, her fingers running through Cullen’s hair as she tries to keep his focus on her and not Dorians probing fingers. After a long moment the Mage presses both hands against blood soaked skin and begins to pour power into it.

It seems to take an age, half way through Dorian calls for lyrium and three Templars step forward to offer their supply. Josephine keeps her eyes on Cullen’s face, his eyes drift closed, his grip slackens in her hands, and she realizes she is saying the same thing over and over,

_O Maker, hear my cry:  
Guide me through the blackest nights…_

At last it is done. Dorian sits back with a little groan, where once there was a tear through flesh and sinew, now a livid red scar remains. It is angry and raw, but no longer leeching the life of its owner. 

"Dorian…" she whispers, she never seen anything like it. When she looks at him she can see he’s shaking with exhaustion. 

"He’s stabilizing." Leliana says, a tired smile hinted in the corners of her mouth. "We need to get him back to Skyhold, but we’re through the worst of it." She doesn’t even have to ask, six of Cullen’s guards step forward with a stretcher and Josephine reluctantly lets go of the hand in hers to make room for them. She moves to stand beside Dorian who has slowly pulled himself to his feet. She feels shaky and giddy and light as a feather.

_Thank you, merciful Andraste._

"Well." Dorian says, slinging an arm around her shoulders that she suspects is meant to offer them both support. "That’s quite enough excitement for one day don’t you think?"

"I do indeed." She says with a little laugh, "Come on." They start back toward the camp, but on the way she stops and gathers up the battered bloodstained cloak from the muddy ground. She’ll see to it’s cleaning and repair herself.

She pulls in a deep breath of air through her nose, fresh grass and Laurel’s Prophet erasing the smell of blood once and for all.


End file.
